Playing Secretary
by petit wolf
Summary: There are perks to playing secretary to the CEO of Wayne Enterprises; the dental plan's pretty amazing and the pay's great too. But Sarah's pretty sure that helping to keep her employer's alter ego a secret was not in her job description. Bruce Wayne/OC
1. Chapter 1

**Summary:** There are perks to playing secretary to the CEO of Wayne Enterprises; the dental plan's pretty amazing and the pay's great too. But Sarah's pretty sure that helping to keep her employer's alter ego a secret was not in her job description. Bruce Wayne/OC

* * *

_Chapter One: First Meetings_

I was nervous.

Stepping into Wayne Enterprises for the first time had an effect on everyone to some degree. The lavish opulence of the lobby area was only slightly masked by the teeming hoards of fancy suits heading in and out of the rotating doors. With gleaming marble floors, ceiling-high glass windows and intricate modern fixtures, it was clear that Wayne Enterprises had spared no expenses when it came to establishing a memorable first impression.

Now believe me, I wasn't the type to be intimidated easily, but Wayne Enterprises was a couple hundred steps above the trash heap where I used to work in the Narrows; the health and safety regulations there were a complete joke and you never kept your things in the company lockers unless you wanted them stolen come lunch time. And those things only constituted the very_ least_ of my problems.

After I left my former place of employment and having spent weeks and weeks job hunting thereafter, I was keenly aware of how much was riding on my interview for the secretarial position at the hulking, global conglomerate. It made my palms sweaty, and fervently I prayed that I wouldn't do something stupid like try to walk through one of the obsessively shiny windows. Wouldn't that be just the final nail in my coffin.

It wasn't as though my life long aspiration was to play secretarial eye candy to some CEO. I'd always had several jobs over the course of my life to tide me over. I had always made just enough for me to survive so I could do what I _really_ wanted to do - writing. From when I was a child I had always been writing, losing myself in whatever worlds I wanted to create. It could easily be called my passion, but as I grew up I quickly became disillusioned with the idea that my first novel would become a New York Time's best seller or win the Pulitzer Prize and that I would be able to kick my feet up and never work another day in my life. The world wasn't a dramatic murder mystery. There were things I had to do to support my writing, like pay the rent. And eat. To do that, I needed a _job_.

But first there was the issue of figuring out exactly where I was supposed to go. I'd checked in with the harried looking receptionist who had briskly rattled off a string of words that I thought might have been directions before I was brusquely dismissed in lieu of the growing line behind me. With little else to do but make my way through the labyrinth that was Wayne Tower, I strode towards the elevator. With any luck I could find just my way around on the way up.

I quickened my pace when I saw that the doors were beginning to close. "Hold the elevator, please!" Immediately, the doors slid obligingly open and I stepped in, flashing a grateful smile at the man who'd held the doors open for me. "Thank you," I huffed, slightly out of breath. I pushed my hair out of my eyes and absently noticed that he was tall; he had to have had at least six inches on me. His skin was tan in a way which suggested that the color was attained by actually being outdoors rather than in a salon. His mouth was smiling in a pleasant, perfunctory way, but his eyes were dark and seemed almost solemn. Handsome, I thought, abstractly. With that harmless half smile of his, he would have made a great secondary character in one of my books, or perhaps a source of comic relief.

"No problem," he replied, his voice a smooth baritone. For a moment we both stood there in silence before he ventured, "What floor are you?"

"Oh, right!" I had almost forgotten. "Uh, top floor please," I gambled. Well, at least it would give me some time to figure out where I was supposed to be.

The elevator began its ascent and on each floor it stopped to accept passengers. I tried to subtly crane my head above the crowd to gauge my surroundings, but dismissed each floor as being even less likely than the next. As the elevator climbed higher, I became more and more aware that I was losing track of my surroundings and bit my lip. _Really wish I'd thought this through._ By the fifteenth floor, I had the growing suspicion that I was being watched. I snuck a quick look out of the corner of my eye and realized that the man who'd originally been on the elevator hadn't left yet. I could see an amused little quirk playing at the corner of his lips as he cast me sidelong glances. With each floor we passed, I felt my dismay grow in tandem with the stranger's amusement until finally we were the only occupants left in the elevator.

_Ding!_ The doors opened to reveal the top floor which beheld a busy looking board room and no where I thought I was supposed to be. There was a pregnant pause in which neither of us moved and the elevator doors slid closed again. Another awkward silence, at least on my part. By now, I knew that the man's amusement at my expense had grown to a full blown smirk as I could see it in the reflective surface of the elevator doors, though I refused to acknowledge him. _Perfect_, I thought, grinding my teeth together. _A witness lives to tell the tale of my complete and utter lack of directional sense._ But perhaps if I just didn't look at him he'd magically go away.

"Do you know where you're going?" Ah, no such luck.

I slowly turned to face him and with exaggerated nonchalance replied, "Yes, of course I do." There was a dull beat of silence and the man arched an expectant brow.

I heaved a sigh and sagged. I was forced to admit the truth. "Alright, you've got me. I feel like I've wandered into the bowels of a labyrinth, only without the sword or the magical ball of thread." I smiled weakly at him.

He laughed in reply, but I found that it didn't sound unkind. "Don't worry, it's a big place. Lots of people get lost," he reassured.

"Really?" I retorted skeptically.

"Well, maybe not _that_ many. But if it makes you feel better, I heard the guy who owns this place got lost in his own building," he replied with a strange, ironic twist of his lips.

"_Really?_" Now I sounded stunned. Did such people really exist?

He nodded in agreement before continuing. "Do you know where you're _supposed_ to be going?"

"Yeah, I have an interview for the secretarial position," I replied. "Any chance you know where that's supposed to be?"

"Ah," he nodded sagely and pressed the bottom most button. "You managed to have gone in the complete opposite direction. You're looking for Applied Sciences." With that, the elevator began its descent.

"Oh." I blinked. "Thanks," I added a tad grudgingly. Did this man have to make everything look so effortless? I was beginning to doubt my initial assessment of him being a secondary character before a thought struck me. "Hey, wait a minute. Don't you have somewhere to be?"

I watched him carefully as he crossed his arms and leaned back against the wall. "Not really. They're not expecting me and I'm not supposed to be there until noon."

I glanced at my watch. "You do realize it's noon right _now_, right?"

"Like I said, they're not exactly expecting me."

I hummed and narrowed my eyes at him. "Why are you going out of your way to help me?"

He looked amused again. "And be the one responsible for setting you loose in Wayne Tower? God knows where you'd end up."

I bristled and drew myself up to my full height and scowled when I found that the effect was somewhat diminished by the fact that he still towered over me. "I'll have you know that while my sense of direction may be a little lacking―"

"―Woefully lacking, you mean," he interjected, leaning forwards.

"Don't interrupt," I snapped and was mollified by the half apologetic look on his face. "Anyway, as I was saying―just because I easily lose my bearings doesn't mean I don't possess other skills," I declared primly.

"Oh?" he replied and I heard the challenge in his tone. "Like what?"

I smirked at him and began to rattle off names and a series of ten digit numbers. As I spoke, I watched his expression change into that of bemusement and then realization.

"Wait a minute," he said, pushing himself up off the wall to ease a step closer, his eyes narrowed with interest. "Are you _reciting the phone book_?" he asked incredulously.

I nodded smugly and tapped the side of my head. "Eidetic memory."

He looked almost suspicious for a moment before abruptly demanding, "What are the digits of pi from the nineteenth to the twenty-eighth decimal?"

I didn't hesitate. "Eight four six two six four three three eight three."

"How many people were in that boardroom?"

"Eighteen."

"Dictionary definition of concilliabule?"

"Webster or Oxford?" I retorted smartly. "Incidentally, what kind of secret plot are we supposed to be hatching?"

"Hm." It was a thoughtful sound. From the look on his face I could tell he was grudgingly impressed with me and was trying not to smile while I was trying not to preen, but it didn't stop him from saying, "An eidetic memory has no bearing on a person's intelligence."

I wasn't offended. "Oh, I know. Fortunately I've got the wherewithal to be able to connect the dots and add two and two together. I'm good with research and numbers."

He shook his head in disbelief. "If you're half as smart as you say you are, and with a memory like that, what are you doing applying to be a secretary? You could be a lawyer or a doctor or..."

"... Or a writer?" I said bashfully, and ducked my head at his surprised expression, suddenly embarrassed by how unusually candid I was being. "You'd be surprised at how much research a writer has to do. My little talent comes quite in handy."

"You're a writer?"

"Yep." I nodded. "Murder mystery," I added proudly.

"Are you published?" he asked. I considered him carefully and I felt the beginnings of a smile at his genuine interest.

I nodded. "I have a few things published under a pseudonym. Nothing major."

There was a pause before he carefully asked, "Why a pseudonym? Why not publish under your own name?"

Here I had to give my answer some thought. "I guess... because I wanted to protect the sanctity of my stories." At his quizzical look, I added, "I didn't want my age, my gender or my background to have any bearing on the stories I wrote. I wanted to give them a blank slate without there being any bias to them. You know, they say an artist's work is only ever half finished? It's completed when someone connects with that piece of work." I shrugged helplessly. "I wanted the people who read my stories to feel and believe in what I wrote for their own sake."

I looked up and noticed a curious little smile playing at the corner of his lips, the first genuine one that I'd seen from him yet. He regarded me with an inscrutable gaze. "Looks like I'll have to drop by the bookstore sometime."

I laughed and shook my head. "You won't be able to find me."

He smirked enigmatically. "We'll see."

Just then the elevator dinged and slid open. I jumped a little in surprise. Speaking to the stranger before me I had lost track of time and had almost forgotten what I'd been here for to begin with. "Oh, we're here." I stepped out of the elevator and peered around. "_This_ is Applied Sciences? It looks more like a nuclear bomb shelter." I shrugged and turned to face him. "Wish me luck."

He smiled and slid his hands into his pockets. "Good luck―though it's unlikely that you'll need it. I'm sure I'll see you around Wayne Tower accosting some other poor soul and demanding directions to the staff room."

I laughed and shyly tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. I had to admit I was curious; in the span of an elevator ride, this stranger had caught and held my attention. Who was he? "My name is Sarah Summers, by the way," I prompted, fully expecting him to follow societal cues and satisfy my curiosity.

Only to be thwarted as he leaned over to push the close button on the elevator doors. I watched indignantly as he smirked. "Nice to meet you Ms. Summers," was all he said before the doors slid closed and magicked him out of sight.

I must have stood there staring open mouthed for at least a minute before I realized how ridiculous I looked. My mouth snapped closed as I turned adroitly on my heel and stomped away, fuming. Stupid mystery man, and his stupidly mysterious smile.

* * *

"Ms. Summers, it's a pleasure to meet you," came the voice of my interviewer who stood up as I entered the room. He held his hand out for me to shake.

I put on my best smile and looked him in the eye as I grasped his hand firmly and gave two strong pumps. "The pleasure's mine, Mr. Fox."

"Please, have a seat." He indicated the chair across the desk and I sat as he took his place, pulling out some papers.

"Your credentials are impressive," he said while scanning my resume. He asked a few routine questions which I answered confidently, though he didn't give any indication of either approval or disapproval. Finally, he stated, "It says here that you were formerly employed at Arkham Asylum."

I felt the stirrings of nervousness but didn't let it show on my face; instead I nodded in confirmation. "Yes sir, I worked for three years as the secretary to the director there."

"Why did you leave?"

I thought carefully. How delicately could one phrase, _Because the place was driving me so insane I might as well have hung up my badge and checked myself into one of the nice, padded cells_ or even worse, _I didn't quite feel safe around my employer and thought it was time to book it the hell out of there_. I settled upon diplomacy and carefully worded my answer. "I simply thought it was the best time for a change in atmosphere, sir."

I wasn't sure that I fooled him. Mr. Fox's eyes twinkled and his smile told volumes about the fact that he seemed to know exactly what I was thinking. "Fair enough, Ms. Summers. You'll be hearing from us in a week or so about a potential second interview."

I smiled and stood. "Thank you for your time, sir."

* * *

I was carrying groceries home when my phone began playing Tchaikovsky. I scrambled to pick it up. "Hello?" I blurted, out of my breath. Hell, if two grocery bags were all it took to wind me, I really needed to head back to the gym.

"Hello Ms. Summers, it's Lucius Fox speaking. Is this an inconvenient time for you?"

"Oh, Mr. Fox! Not at all!" My heart began to race in anticipation but I kept it from being audible in my voice. "How may I help you?"

"I simply called to offer my congratulations."

I paused, hardly daring to believe him. "... Did I make the second interview?"

"I'm afraid not, Ms. Summers," he replied gravely and I went cold. "You got the job."

"Oh!" It felt like all the air had been pushed out of my lungs and I barked out a helpless, giddy laugh. "That's amazing! Thank you, sir." My mind whirled and I forced myself to take a deep breaths so I could think for a moment. "Not to look the gift horse in the mouth, but I thought there'd be a second interview."

"There _was_," he replied dryly. "Admittedly, you and a couple other candidates were picked to come in for another screening, but due to an... unexpected recommendation, the second interview was rendered unnecessary."

An unexpected recommendation? I was sure he didn't mean my references from Arkham, could he? But I certainly wasn't about to push my luck. "Thank you sir, I look forward to this opportunity to work with you."

"Oh no, not me Ms. Summers. I'm just a grunt worker. You'll see Mr. Wayne some time next week," he replied and for some strange reason, he sounded like he was enjoying a private joke. "When can you start?"

"I can start this coming Monday," I replied grinning ear to ear.

"Excellent. We'll see you then, Ms. Summers."

I hung up the phone and lifted the grocery bags. They weighed as light as a feather.

* * *

To be continued! I'd appreciate any and all kinds of input so please, do tell me what you think.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Batman and I make no profit from this story.

* * *

_Chapter 2: Belated Introductions_

I showed up to work half an hour early and was, thankfully, spared from any more hopeless meanderings. I vindictively jammed my thumb down on the ground level button and waited to reach my floor. My very first day at Wayne Enterprises and my stomach was churning with nervousness and a no small amount of excitement. For the first time in three years I could work in a place where I didn't have to constantly look over my shoulder in the parking lot, or worry that some crazed lunatic would try to grab me from behind iron bars. What a novelty that was.

I hopped out of the elevator and made my way past rows and rows of shelves that overflowed with boxes laden with the company's papers. I rounded a corner at found Lucius Fox standing at a desk. He looked up at the sound of my heels clicking. "Good morning Ms. Summers," he greeted with a smile. "You're here bright and early."

"Just in case of any mishaps, sir," I replied perkily.

"It's wise to be prepared," he acknowledged. "In any case, you'll be working here. I need you to compile some records from the past seven years and summarize them―financial statements, a balance sheet detailing Wayne Enterprise's budget, dividends and cash flow to specific sects of the company. You'll have access to all the information you need at your work station. Anything you can't find here will be on those shelves," he gestured behind him.

I nodded and took in my surroundings. "And the elevator behind those book shelves, sir?" I asked.

I felt him level me an appraising look. He didn't answer for a few moments and I wondered if my curiosity had overstepped its bounds. Before I could backtrack he said, "You have sharp eyes, Ms. Summers. _That_ stops at only two floors. This one, and the one beneath us where our prototypes are kept. It requires special clearance," he added pointedly.

Taking the hint, I nodded and tried to look innocent, though I couldn't help but be curious about the sorts of things that were hidden beneath those doors. It sounded exactly like one of the things I'd write about in my murder mysteries. I suppressed a mournful sigh.

"I hope you don't mind that I've taken the liberty of finding you a blueprint of Wayne Tower. It's a big place―wouldn't want you getting lost." He sounded perfectly nonchalant, but I wasn't sure if I was imagining the sly edge of humor to his tone.

I gave him a surprised look. "How did you―"

He chuckled. "Just a hunch. Good luck on your first day, Ms. Summers," he said, making his way to leave.

"Mr. Fox, wait!" I called out. "Won't I be meeting Mr. Wayne?"

"Oh, I wouldn't worry about that," he said with a smile. "You'll be seeing him around."

* * *

I didn't.

Working in Wayne Towers was a pleasure. I was given real work to do rather than being relegated as little more than a walking talking coffee machine like I'd been in Arkham Asylum. I didn't realize how craven I was for the challenge until I actually sat down and lost myself in my work. It was an exhausting process, but I wasn't bothered; it was as though my mind was beginning to yawn itself awake and unfurl to its full capacity again.

My first day there I was a bit of a shut in. I ate my lunch at my desk and spent the hour poring over the blueprints. I silently vowed never to let the twisty, labyrinth architecture of Wayne Tower get the better of me again as I committed the maps to memory.

As the days wore on, I decided it was time to climb back to the surface of the earth. There was only so much time you could spend in the basement before your coworkers started spreading urban myths about you around the table during lunch hour and gave you weird names, like 'Basement Lady'. By the end of the first week, I had managed to make a friend, though in that time I'd yet to see hide nor hair of either my boss or Mysterious Elevator Guy, as I'd dubbed him.

Maybe Mysterious Elevator Guy was an eidolon. Or a spy who'd infiltrated Wayne Tower to steal company secrets and he'd used me as a convenient cover up to seem like an ordinary employee. _Or maybe he just doesn't have as compelling a reason to see you again_, I thought morosely and stabbed at my chicken salad viciously.

"Wow, Summers. What'd that salad do to you?" came the friendly voice of my new friend Alan. He slid into the seat across from me.

"It insulted my mother and made claims of my sexual tendency towards animals," I replied blandly, spearing a piece of chicken breast and popping it into my mouth.

He nodded, taking my strangeness in stride. "Remind me not to ask you to babysit my cat while I'm out of town then," he said. "Seriously though, what's up? You look down. Writer's block again?"

I sighed, throwing my fork down as I shoved my plate away. "It's been a week. A week and I still haven't seen that guy in the elevator that I told you about. Or my boss for that matter!"

He looked at me with an expression that was half amusement and half pity. "As to the first issue: are you sure you weren't imagining him? As for the second: who cares? You're still getting paid without him here and do you know what I would give to have never met _my_ boss? Just sit back, relax and play solitaire all day."

I crossed my arms, my expression stormy. "I'm beginning to think I was imagining him. Maybe I was lost for longer than I thought and he was some kind of mirage." I shook my head. "As for my boss―it's the principle of the matter. What kind of place is this where I haven't even met the man I'm supposed to be working for?" I looked at him with disgust. "And _solitaire_? Don't be so plebeian," I joked, adopting highly exaggerated plummy tones.

Alan threw his hands up in surrender and retorted sarcastically, "My apologies. If not solitaire than whatever it is you tortured artists do." He laughed at my expression and changed the subject. "Forget that for a moment. Did you read the news today?"

"No," I replied curtly. "If it isn't about another string of murders that the cops aren't doing anything about than it's gossip about Gotham's socialites."

Alan shook his head at me. "You should have turned on GP24. Apparently there were some thugs found unconscious a few blocks away from the MCU that may have some ties to Falcone. They were just lying there like they were gift wrapped."

I listened with growing interest. "Really?"

He nodded and continued. "The kicker is, my brother lives in the Narrows a few blocks from there and he said he said he saw someone in a black mask just jumping from roof to roof."

"A burglar?"

"What kind of burglar wears a _cape_?"

I was quiet for a moment before I felt a slow smile grow across my face. "Hmmm," I murmured thoughtfully, my mind whirring through the possibilities. Who was this? A caped crusader? A mysterious figure who patrolled the night? My fingers itched for a pen and a pad of paper.

Alan smiled. "Mystery writer like you, I knew it'd be right up your alley."

I smiled back blithely. With new found inspiration I was already writing the prologue to my next book in my head. "Do you really think he was responsible for beating up those thugs?"

He shrugged, rising from the table. "Who knows? Anyway, break time's over. Get back to work, Summers. Save the writing for when you're at home!"

I was only half listening. "Yeah, okay. Bye," I replied dreamily and waved.

* * *

The following Monday I trudged to work, glaring daggers at anyone who so much as breathed the wrong way. Although it was only my second week, I was beginning to sense a trend in that the train ride on the way to Wayne Tower always seemed twice as long and twice as crowded on Mondays. As I stepped into the elevator I considered heading down towards Applied Sciences before changing my mind. It was still too early to function without the aid of some serious caffeine. The prospect of a nice cup of coffee buoyed my outlook on life a little.

In the staff room I made a beeline toward the coffee machine and peered into the coffee tin only to be thwarted when it turned up empty. I wallowed in despair for a moment before casting around desperately.

I looked up and surely there it was, sitting innocently on the topmost shelf―an extra can! I beamed and stretched up toward my slow roasted salvation which sat so temptingly close... yet so far out of reach. Even perched on my toes and straining against the counter my nails could only graze the label. I scowled under the strain and cursed underneath my breath. "These shelves are so poorly designed," I hissed venomously.

"Ever think maybe it's just because you're short?" Came an amused voice from just behind me.

I stiffened. That smug tone―I knew that voice! I whipped around to come face to face with none other than Mysterious Elevator Guy who looked no less put together than the first time I saw him, and who looked just as amused with my current predicament as he'd been with my last one.

I quelled the ridiculous urge to smile at him and put on a mask of theatrical disinterest. "Actually, I believe the politically correct term is 'vertically disinclined'," I informed him haughtily.

I was rewarded with a quick silver smile as he lowered his head; for a second, I thought I might have even caught a glimpse of a gleaming white smile but when he met my gaze again his expression took on the same detached cool though his eyes were warm with amusement.

I shuffled to the side as he approached and watched him enviously as he reached up with damnable ease to retrieve the coffee tin himself.

"Oh?" he returned condescendingly, spooning ground coffee into the coffee maker. "Then help me clear something else up. Is the politically correct term supposed to be 'directionally challenged' or 'perpetually lost'?"

I gaped open mouthed at his audacity while he blithely carried through with the motions of making coffee, completely ignoring my flabbergasted expression. Before I could think twice my hand whipped out to deliver a solid _thwap_ to his arm. "I am _not_ perpetually lost!" I protested hotly.

"_Ow_," he said emphatically, shooting me a wounded look as he rubbed his arm. "Let's add 'irrationally prone to violence' to the list..." He looked at me warily, but I could see a smile tugging insistently at his mouth.

For his sake I decided to ignore that second part. "I'm not perpetually lost. As you can clearly see I managed to get here perfectly fine!"

"All on your own?" he shot back knowingly.

I thought of the blueprint that Fox had given me and though I wanted to deny it, I grudgingly admitted, "Well, no. I had the tiniest bit of help from some blueprints." At his smug look, I hastily continued, "But that's besides the point."

"Well then, by all means," he said, gesturing widely, "enlighten me as to what the point is."

"The _point_ is that I am very capable and that you shouldn't underestimate me," I informed him primly.

"Oh I know; you've already proven that you've got a mean backhand," he replied meaningfully and I had the good grace to look slightly ashamed.

While I floundered for a suitably witty comeback, he quickly changed the subject. "How's working at Wayne Enterprises treating you?" he asked.

"Oh, I'm really enjoying the work here," I gushed, forgetting my indignation completely. "There's so much to do and to read. There's mounds and mounds of paperwork to be done but for the first time in a long time I feel like I'm at least being put to use."

"It sounds tedious."

"It is and it isn't. I always feel tired at the end of the day, but it's like how your body feels after you work out. Sore and aching, but also looser. More capable." I smiled. "It's pleasantly diverting."

"Most people wouldn't look as excited as you about doing more work."

"It isn't just the work! My coworkers are really nice, and Mr. Fox has been very helpful." My face took on a sour expression at my line of thought.

"I guess you could say that he's the diametric opposite of my boss who hasn't seen fit to show his face at work yet," I said derisively. "I guess billionaire playboys have better things to do with their time."

Mysterious Elevator Guy, who had been sipping his coffee, suddenly choked and spluttered. He looked at me incredulously. "_Billionaire playboy_?" he croaked.

"If the shoe fits," I replied dismissively.

"Don't you think that's a bit of a hasty assessment to make?" His mouth shifted in uncertain patterns like the fluttering wings of a bird; in the end it seemed to compromise by being halfway in between a smile and a grimace, though his eyes looked amused.

"He sounds like a lout," I said stubbornly.

He was shocked into another laugh before ducking his head and rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. "Listen, I should probably tell you something..."

I nodded but then glanced at my watch; I had a near heart attack. "Oh no! I'm going to be late!"

I spared him an apologetic look and made to gather my things to scramble back to work but remembered that while chatting away I never did get around to making my cup of coffee. Suddenly, I was forced to reevaluate my priorities: coffee or a spotless attendance record? I was torn.

My soul wracking indecision must have shown on my face because he chuckled and suddenly a mug was pushed into my hands. "Here, take mine."

I looked down at the mug and back up at him in disbelief before I felt a smile steal over my face. "Thanks," I said, suddenly shy.

He looked nonchalantly away. "Hurry up or you'll be late."

I nodded and hurried to the elevator. Only when the doors slid shut did I allow myself to laugh softly. Imagine running into Mysterious Elevator Guy again. It reminded me that I still hadn't caught his name but I was determined to hunt him down and get it the next time. He seemed like such a strange character―he definitely wasn't as jocular and blank-behind-the-eyes he'd first appeared. There was also some strange quality about him that I couldn't put my finger on exactly. _What a mystery_, I thought with a smile.

Considerably cheered I absently took a sip of coffee and almost spat it out immediately after. My eyes watered at the acrid taste and I glanced down to confirm my suspicions.

"Who the hell takes their coffee black with no sugar?"

* * *

I was bored.

I had gotten through nearly everything Lucius Fox had assigned me―it was actually closer to the truth to say that I'd consumed the all the information available to me and was now only gnawing on the bare bones of what was left. The kind of work that would have taken others at least a month to get through I'd finished in a fortnight. The completed mountain of paper work was mostly accredited to my memory but part of it was my own curiosity. Wayne Enterprises was a colossus and its many branches were composed of whirring cogs and gears. Being in the basement of Wayne Tower was not unlike sitting in the belly of the beast while picking apart its inner workings and examining all the pieces that made the machine go_ tick_. I was fascinated.

But I was also mostly finished and bored enough to consider taking a nap. Or actually playing solitaire. Maybe I could do a few laps around the vast basement and get my hour of cardio in while I had the time...

I didn't think Fox would appreciate coming down here to see me jogging out of breath around his nice, clean department of Applied Sciences though. I decided to forgo the thought and instead went with doing a little research about this mysterious masked vigilante instead.

My search yielded rather ambiguous results and there were too many conflicting reports. The Gotham Gazette reported the presence of the criminals left on the MCU's doorstep but was frustratingly vague about how they got there to begin with. Other newspapers stated that the GPD were responsible for the arrests, while smaller news blogs reported that the masked figure in black was single handedly responsible for bringing down the thugs. There were even a few shaky videos, too blurry to be considered empirical evidence by any means, but if I squinted, I could see a dark outline silhouetted against the night lit buildings of Gotham's skyline.

I was so engrossed in my search that I didn't hear the humming of the elevator and an unsubtle ding―a sure sign that someone was on their way down.

"Ms. Summers, there's someone I want you to finally meet," came the sudden sound of Lucius Fox's voice, making me jump in surprise. I scrambled to close all my tabs and scraped together some papers to seem as though I'd been hard at work. Which I totally had been. At least until before I had gotten sidetracked.

Flustered, I jumped to my feet. "Oh, Mr. Fox! Uh, I was just―"

Fox cocked an eyebrow at me but smoothly continued. "Ms. Summers, meet Mr. Wayne."

For the first time I noticed the man standing behind Lucius Fox and I turned my attention on him only to feel recognition hit me like a torrent of cold water. My heart stuttered in my chest as I locked eyes with Bruce Wayne―who turned out to be none other than Mysterious Elevator Guy.

My mind put the pieces together while I recovered from the shock. I studied his face carefully. The warm amusement from earlier today had completely disappeared, sapped away by the careful blankness in his eyes. His expression was a placid mask of pleasantness as if shaped from a plastic mold; but there were hairline cracks in the facade that spoke volumes for the fact that he knew I wasn't just some stranger. His gaze was too intent to be passed off as casual interest and there was wary anticipation in his eyes―he was waiting for something.

Well, far be it from me to disappoint. Two could play at his game.

My heels clicked audibly in the dead silence as I unabashedly stepped up to him. I plastered on a wide smile that showed too many teeth as I took his hand in a firm grip. "Mr. Wayne," I exclaimed in a saccharine sweet tone. "How nice to finally meet you."

There was a moment where his mask slipped and his surprise showed but he rallied quickly. "The pleasure's mine, Ms. Summers," he replied guardedly.

"I'm sure it will be an absolute honor to work with you, sir," I gushed with excessive enthusiasm, my megawatt smile completely at odds with the daggers I was glaring at him with my eyes. He winced and I felt a vicious stab of delight. _Good_, I thought vindictively.

He was so _dead_.

* * *

As always, let me know what you think!


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Batman and I make no profit from this story.

* * *

**Chapter 3: Duality**

In moments of crises like this, there was a time old saying that went something like this: the truth will set you free.

Which was all well and good because people usually tended to forget the addendum: but before it does, it will piss you off.

Or maybe even send you on a rampaging warpath where you would then proceed to put the fear of God into the hearts of every man, woman and child.

Alright, so that made me sound like I'd donned warpaint and went streaking through the streets of Gotham screaming for the blood of my enemies (read: Bruce Wayne) which I definitely hadn't. What I _had_ done was finish my work for the day and go home to think. And not just normal thinking. Deep thinking. Ponderous thinking. Had I funneled my mental efforts elsewhere, I probably could have solved the mystery of the universe. Or something like that. Instead, I'd spent the night staring up at my ceiling, unable to sleep, trying to reconcile Mysterious Elevator Guy with Bruce Wayne.

On the one hand, Mysterious Elevator Guy was intriguing, mysterious and―dare I say it―charming. It was something about his eyes, dark and inscrutable save for when they shone in amusement at my expense. Or perhaps it was his mild mannered intelligence and the way he wielded it with a kind of lazy ease that could only be born from practiced confidence. He was kind. A bit enigmatic maybe, but he was also _sincere_.

This went against everything I knew about Bruce Wayne. Which, admittedly, wasn't a lot but once you learned a few things about the man, you could extrapolate for yourself the general trend of his stupidity. God, the things I'd heard about him―he bought entire restaurants on a whim, had once imported thousands of bottles of champagne in order to fill his indoor swimming pool and, infamously, had once actually propositioned the daughter of a foreign dignitary which had been so scandalously insulting that the president had to intervene and apologize on behalf of the nation.

In my little mental venn diagram, not much was meeting in the middle.

There was also the fact that I felt invariably _stung_ by being so led on by Mysterious Elevator Guy―Bruce Wayne, I reminded myself―and while the argument could technically be made that he'd never lied directly, he had still lied by omission. The more I thought about it the angrier it made me. Unable to sleep, I tossed and turned all night and managed to entangle myself so thoroughly in my sheets that I felt my extremities slowly start to go numb.

In the end, angry though I was, I decided that I would simply ignore him when possible and carry on with my work. I wasn't at Wayne Tower to make friends and if I didn't need to speak to Bruce Wayne outside of a professional capacity, I wouldn't do it at all. I would be the bigger person in this situation.

Which was why I manfully restrained myself from keying his car (or what I thought was his car. It was the most expensive looking one there) as I passed through the parking lot in the morning on my way to work. Rest assured, it had required herculean effort on my part not to.

I sat down in my desk and felt the high, keening edge of dread in my chest. Work started at nine, which meant I had about ten minutes to collect myself. I didn't want to face him today, or ever really. I prayed against all odds that he might be too hungover to come into work today. Or had fallen into his champagne pool and drowned. Or was finally beaten to death by all the jealous women he was apparently having affairs with.

On top of that, I could feel the beginnings of a blistering migraine blooming just behind my eyes. Perfect.

Just then the elevator dinged open and lo and behold, Bruce Wayne stepped out, all neat, pressed lines. In an instant his eyes locked with mine like a thunderclap before he came closer, his face guarded.

"Good morning," he said carefully. His feet wove a careful, cautious pattern toward my desk, clearly testing the waters.

I plastered a smile on my face. "Oh, Mr. Wayne! How nice of you to finally show up to work," I replied in simpering tones.

He sighed. "Listen, Sarah―"

"And here I was thinking you'd been extradited from the US for causing another international diplomatic crisis," I continued conversationally. I cocked my head at him. "What are you at now, Mr. Wayne, strike two?"

He gave me a flat look which I returned with a serene smile. "It was just the once," he defended. He came to stand beside me. "Look, can we just talk about this?"

"Talk about what?" My blithe tone was completely at odds with the way I aggressively pushed my chair away from my desk. Wayne was forced to step back quickly or risk losing some toes underneath the wheels. I looked down and was disappointed to find that his toes remained entirely intact.

He looked briefly annoyed at that before his expression collapsed into one of chagrin. Good. I spun on my heel and walked to the copy machine while he dogged my steps persistently.

"I want to apologize. Let me make it up to you," he said earnestly.

I didn't reply and steadily fed paper into the machine, not looking at him.

He was undeterred by my stony silence. "I'm sorry that I didn't tell you. To be honest, I wasn't sure if you knew or not. Or I thought you'd realize afterward."

"Oh, because you're so famous?"

"Well, I _am_ Bruce Wayne," he replied. His tone could have passed for arrogant if there wasn't something a little bleak and self loathing in his voice. For the first time I turned to look at him.

"That's not really why. Maybe the first time we met that excuse might've stuck but you had plenty of chances to introduce yourself the second time. So why didn't you?" I pinned him with a hard look, looking into his eyes.

I watched as they went dark, intense. The way they shifted like great sheets of ice cracking to show a glimpse of something genuine lurking beneath the depths. He seemed to be fighting with himself to come to some kind of decision. I held my breath.

"Because I..." he trailed off deliberately.

I saw the moment he lost. His expression sealed itself up again and he looked away. "Nothing. It's nothing. Never mind."

I turned back to the copy machine and swallowed my disappointment. "That's what I thought," I replied bitterly.

* * *

The rest of my day was peppered by Bruce's relentless persistence, though he managed to seem entirely blase and casual about it. He coaxed and cajoled as though he thought he could win my forgiveness with his disarming smile, dulcet tones and half lidded eyes.

I held up against the barrage with stony silences and ironclad willpower but he didn't make it easy. He'd adopted the 'kill them with kindness' approach toward me, much to my mounting annoyance. He brought coffee intermittently throughout the day to the point where I wasn't sure if he was trying to butter me up or kill me with caffeine poisoning. He was also cheerfully ignoring the fact that there was a steadily growing fortress of cold, undrunken coffee surrounding my desk.

I eyed the dozen venti sized cups from Starbucks and did some mental calculations before deciding that I could probably pay a month's rent with this much money.

By the time lunch rolled around, I practically ran for the elevator. I had to escape. Either I would utterly shame myself by giving into his blasted charms or I would snap and kill him with my stapler. I wasn't sure which of the two was worse.

"Wait. So you're telling me that all this time, Mysterious Elevator Guy was..."

"Bruce Wayne. My boss."

"And he didn't..."

"Tell me? Nope."

"And you found out..."

"On Friday."

"Wow, Summers," Alan said in admiration. "You've got a pair for coming back to work today. I would've just quit and left the country."

"That's still under consideration," I replied darkly. "Hey, do you have any Advil? My head is killing me."

He rummaged inside his bag and instead of giving me two pills he handed over the entire bottle. "Keep it. You obviously need it more than I do."

I dry swallowed two and immediately put my head back down on the table. Alan then proceeded to prove his worth as a friend by patting me on the head and offering to put whiskey in my coffee next time.

I groaned out loud. "No, don't talk about coffee. Never again. I've sworn it off."

I could feel his incredulous eyes from my position of graceful repose. "You? Swear off coffee? Is this coming from the same person who damn near shanked me last week for the last cup?"

_Oh yeah_, I thought blearily. _I almost forgot about that_. I decided not to dignify him with a reply.

Alan sighed. "Listen, I know what will cheer you up. You know your masked vigilante? He has a name now. The papers are calling him the Batman."

My head snapped up. "Batman?"

He nodded, satisfied at my renewed signs of life. "Yep."

"That is..." I trailed off. "That could _work_. It's both suitably ambiguous and more than a little intimidating. A good name for a Byronic hero masquerading as an anti-hero," I said, delighted. "I probably couldn't have come up with anything better myself. _Oh_, I need a pen and some paper!"

"And with that, ladies and gentlemen, she's back."

* * *

Over the next few days reports of the Batman kept popping up and it was better than anything I could have ever hoped for. Thugs connected to Falcone's drug ring were steadily being racked up as Batman drew ever closer to the heart of the operation―Falcone himself. There were reported sightings, fuzzy pictures, even a shaky video or two and countless news clippings. I wanted to keep them but decided against it. Too much conjecture. It'd be better if I started a notebook of my own and sorted through the fantasy to pick out the facts. It was safe to say that I was in writerly heaven.

On the other hand, things with Bruce were rapidly deteriorating. I found that I couldn't resist making low blows and taking little jabs at him here and there, which eventually wore on him long enough that he dropped the repentant act and started hitting back.

He played up his casual arrogance, which he _knew_ annoyed me, to the point where I began making his coffee extra milky and sweet―just the way he hated it. He retaliated by moving all the coffee canisters to the very top shelf, and though I never saw him actually do it, who else could it have been?

Sometimes I wondered if I was crossing a line―he was, after all, still my boss. But I consoled myself with the knowledge that I wasn't crossing any lines, merely toeing them. My comments were always backhanded, safe behind a thin veneer of civility.

Besides, I wasn't sure if Bruce would have even minded had I dropped the politeness completely. He seemed to retaliate on principle rather than out of any real anger. Like he had given into my goads to spar and was now humoring me―taking no hits and landing no real blows of his own. It was disconcerting to try and think about, so I didn't. And if I saw glimmers of amusement in his eyes from time to time, I ignored it.

And so our silent warfare continued, deep in the bowels of Wayne Tower.

I crept from the elevator with all the grace and subterfuge of a guerrilla fighter, taking stock of my surroundings. The enemy had yet to be sighted, which probably meant that he was in his office playing internet poker or skyping with one of his little girlfriends.

I stepped into the threshold of his office and peered in, only to find his head tipped back and his eyes closed. He was asleep.

It wasn't a surprise. He looked more haggard these days, with dark smudges beneath his eyes. But for now he looked so disquietingly peaceful, his face open and vulnerable. His head tilted back to reveal the long expanse of his neck, the geography of those lines and the way they disappeared beneath the knot of his tie. His lashes fluttered as he slept, his eyes moving beneath closed lids. Dreaming, I realized.

For one gentle, unbearable moment, I softened.

Then I crossed the length of the floor and blithely slapped several folders on his desk with a loud thwap. He jerked awake and sent me a resentful glare to which I responded with a smile.

"Oh, I'm _so_ sorry Mr. Wayne, did I disturb you?"

He snorted softly but didn't reply, sitting up to re-adjust his tie with just the slightest hint of self consciousness.

"Anyway, I'm back. I looked in all the places you recommended but I couldn't find what you were looking for―"

"Did you try contacting the manager?"

I twitched in annoyance but didn't shift the smile on my face. "Yes, well, I tried looking for him but he kept insisting on pretending to be one of the customers so it was rather difficult."

Bruce was in the middle of yawning but his jaws clicked abruptly shut. He straightened and arched a brow at me. "Are you sure you were even in the right place? Maybe you got a bit lost again?"

I felt all the synapses in brain snap and go frayed with rage. Bruce's lips quirked as he looked at me, his eyes straying to the angry flush in my cheeks and a tendril of hair that had come undone from my careful coiffure.

Just then Lucius Fox strolled into the room. There was the barest pause as he seemed to take note of the tension in the room before he met Bruce's eyes. Whatever he saw there made him continue seamlessly.

"Mr. Wayne, Ms. Summers," he greeted, nodding. "Hard at work or hardly working?"

"Hard at work," Bruce said.

"Hardly working," I said pointedly, shooting him a look.

"It was just a short nap," he protested.

"For which you were just paid..." I checked my watch. "Two and a half thousand dollars."

Bruce shrugged, unperturbed.

Fox looked amused. "I see we have some kinks to iron out." He turned to look at me. "I'm here to remind you about the Martha Wayne charity gala next week."

I looked at him blankly.

"It's an annual event hosted Wayne foundation. All employees of Wayne Enterprises are invited."

I forced a smile. "I'll check my calendar and see if I can make it." Not bloody likely. I'd rather stay home and clean out my fridge or fold my underwear.

Bruce hummed quietly behind me as though he could read my mind.

Fox pinned him with a look. "And as for _you_, Mr. Wayne, attendance is mandatory. You have appearances to keep up," he said before leaving.

There was an odd, warning note in his voice. I chanced a quick look at Bruce's face only to find it blanker than I'd ever seen it.

"Well, back to work," he said breezily, snapping out of his reverie.

"Is that what you call it?" I murmured under my breath, heading back to my desk.

* * *

Bruce left early that day, while I, on the other hand, managed to leave at seven. There was no justice in the world.

By the time I got off the train, it was almost nine. The sun had long since set and the streetlights were of little help in that regard, most of them flickering weakly if they were even on at all. It was never a good idea to be out after dark in the Narrows but I'd taken counter measures in the form of some self defense classes and a bottle of mace though there was a taser I'd been longing to get my hands on for some time now...

I walked home. I was about a block away when I heard scuffles and a low snarling sound from an alley nearby. Oh God damn it, if it was some punks bullying Mrs. Wright's dog again then I had to do something. Ever since her husband died the year before, the dog was all she had left. She let it out so often that it had met with near misses before. I made up my mind.

I clicked the safety off my can of mace and slid carefully into the alley, the sound of a commotion growing as I drew closer. It was only after my eyes adjusted did I realize my mistake.

Punks? Yes. Mrs. Wright's dog? No.

It was the Batman.

My mind could barely compute. His back was to me but I could tell. The elegant brutality of him, the effortless strength as he took down the guys in the alley. He was a fury―nimble, despite how huge he looked and how ungainly the armor must be. He wasn't even fighting them because that would have implied them ever being on equal ground. Six guys against one Batman? You had to feel sorry for them.

He was mostly finished and here I was still staring dumbly. At least until I saw a flicker of motion on the ground. One of the punks was trying to get up and he had in his hand a switch blade.

_Oh hell no._

Without thinking I moved forward, stabbing my heel into his hand. He let out a pained cry which I quickly put an end to when I grabbed the lid of a trash can and smashed him on the head with it. It felt disconcertingly therapeutic.

The loud clang alerted the Batman to another presence in the alley and he spun around, his cape whirling behind him. His fists were raised, like he was prepared to dash my brains out at the slightest provocation, before he took a small step back.

I was immediately pinned by the force of those dark eyes, gleaming with fury and the rush of adrenalin. I couldn't breathe; my breath felt captive in my lungs but I couldn't look away either. _Oh my God_, I thought. _It's Batman. Cape, cowl and everything_. Dull silence roared in my head, white noise in a fugue with the frantic beating of my heart.

For what felt like forever neither of us said anything. I licked my lip and ventured cautiously, pointing to the thug beneath my feet. "You missed a spot."

For a minute he almost seemed incredulous before he whirled into action, striding quickly toward me.

Smarter people than me would have backed up, but I gave no ground until I was nearly chest to chest with the Batman.

"What do you think you're doing wandering the Narrows after dark?" he growled out.

The force of his presence was near overwhelming. Even though I knew better, it was hard to believe that there was a man under there, who could had to breathe, could bleed like the rest of us. He seemed like more.

His interrogatory tone of voice would have normally pissed me off coming from anyone else, but I forgot to be angry. "I had to work late and I wasn't wandering," I protested weakly. "I live here. I was going home."

"You live in an alley?" he rumbled. This close, I could almost feel the vibrations in my chest.

"No, of course not," I scowled. "I heard noises."

"So you came to investigate." He sounded almost deadpan, if not for the undercurrent of mockery.

I remembered how to be angry. I stepped back so I could look at him without putting a crick in my neck. "I think I did fine!" I gestured. "See, I took that guy out."

Batman growled. "You don't get credit for that. I did most of the work." When I opened my mouth to protest, he spoke over me. "How would you have protected yourself?"

I flushed and shrugged sheepishly. "I took self defense classes. And I have this," I said, whipping out my can of mace.

Batman looked at me. "Self defense classes and a can of mace."

"I was thinking about investing in a taser too, if that helps."

_It doesn't_, he looked like he wanted to say. He hands made aborted motions like he was thinking about grabbing me by the shoulders and shaking though I was sure that was just my imagination.

He turned away, somehow stating by just the slope of his back that he was exasperated and thought I was a walking hazard. "Go home," he grated out and made to leave.

"Wait!" I cried out and watched him pause. He turned to glance at me over his shoulder, clearly waiting.

I wanted to think about it and say my next words carefully, but I was suddenly overcome with the fear that if I didn't spit it out he would leave and then I'd never have this opportunity again.

"Thank you!" I blurted. Batman turned to face me again. I locked eyes with him and didn't look away.

"I just wanted to thank you. People have said a lot of things about you, but I don't think any of them have ever thanked you for what you do. Risking your life for Gotham every night that you decide to do this."

I paused, shifting under the disconcerting weight of his eyes. "So I guess what I'm saying is thank you. And be safe." I thought about it for a moment and amended. "As safe as possible, given the job hazards."

"I don't need thanks," he replied gruffly.

"Nevertheless, I'm giving it to you," I replied earnestly.

He was silent but when he spoke next his voice sounded softer than he probably meant it to. "Go home."

I probably bugged him enough for one night so I relented. "Okay," I said simply and stepped past him into the dim light of the street.

When I turned back he was gone, but for some inexplicable reason I didn't feel alone until I got home and closed the door behind me.

* * *

Whoo, okay. So that's done with! I'm sorry for the wait. I just want to take the opportunity to thank everyone who's favorited, alerted, reviewed and even PM'd me! It's all very sweet and encouraging. Please remember to tell me your thoughts! There's nothing more motivating than knowing people actually read what you write. :)


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